


I Hope You're Not Hurting

by Papacita (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)



Category: Super Junior, Super Junior-M
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mild Gore, Post-Break Up, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 00:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13512816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Papacita
Summary: Inspired by: Growing Pains----Donghae isn't around anymore and Hyukjae is stuck in the past, stuck in a nightmare.





	I Hope You're Not Hurting

Hyukjae stared at the rings on the night stand, staring at him, gloating. They glinted softly in the low slither of moonlight slipping through the curtains. The diamonds and white gold shimmered, reminding Hyukjae of the soft glimmer of His eyes as he smiled, looking at Hyukjae like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. Hyukjae closed his eyes and turned his head away, reaching out to find the large hoodie that sat by his side, and had since last month. He didn’t move much from this spot in his bedroom, staring at the rings taunting him, his hand feeling the soft hoodie that He would wear constantly, often having to be coaxed out of it to put in the wash. Vaguely, Hyukjae was aware of his phone vibrating, buried somewhere under the thick duvet that He had always insisted on because winter was cold in their shitty apartment, with cracks in the walls and unsealed windows that really didn’t do anything past give them something to look out of. The sealer they had bought nearly a year ago still sat in the corner of the room, waiting for them to pick up and make their bedroom warmer; inches of dust sat on top of it. They had always been too busy, but they never really cared because this place was theirs, no matter how run down it was.  
  
Hyukjae forced himself to stand up and walk through to the kitchen, he hadn’t eaten for a few days, and he really should focus on eating more. He needed to look after himself, now he was alone. He stared in the cupboards for what felt like an age before he shoved a microwaveable meal for one into the microwave, turning it on and collapsing at the kitchen table. Adoption papers lay scattered around the wooden surface and Hyukjae stared at them dully. He should put them away for the future, or shred them and get rid of them, but right now, they sat becoming one with the table, dust fusing them to the wood. For a moment, he thought about sweeping his arm across the table, clearing both dust and papers off of it in one fluid movement, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was another memory of Him, stuck in the past just like Hyukjae.   
  
Vaguely, Hyukjae was aware he should start looking after himself. He should clean, dust the house and vacuum, he should seal the holes and cracks in the bricks and make the house his own. He should redecorate, and he should let his friends know he was okay before they sent a search party to break his door down. He didn’t remember the last time he had sent anyone a message; his phone barely left the bed sheets, never used, still with battery after a week. He wondered vaguely how much longer it would be before it finally died, before the microwave beeping knocked him out of his thoughts. He stood up, slowly getting it out and shoving it onto a plate. He stared out the kitchen window, down to the dark streets below. His appetite was gone in an instant, seeing the dark brown stain, still not taken away from the streets.   
  
Hyukjae closed his eyes and it came rushing back.  
  
Donghae coming across the road from work, smiling and waving as he ran over the zebra crossing. He was rushing to tell Hyukjae the news he had got from work, the same news Hyukjae had received just an hour ago; their adoption request had been accepted, and the company was working through the paperwork to help choose the best child for them. Then there had been the yelling. The sound of an engine. Screeching rubber on tarmac, and Donghae had turned his head to the side, eyes wide, holding his hand up. Hyukjae had watched the world in slow motion as the silver Hyundai had slammed into Donghae’s side and sent him flying. He had landed with his eyes open, staring in shock at the apartment building he had just been running towards, arm at an angle, his leg broken at an odd angle. Hyukjae hadn’t moved, he didn’t scream, he didn’t cry. He just stared as blood pooled around Donghae, coming from where his bone had come out his leg, a large scrape across his stomach soaking his white shirt red. The ambulance had gotten there in only five minutes, but Hyukjae could tell from where he was stood, still in shock, the way that they looked at each other that he was gone. Three hours later, Donghae’s parents had told him he had died instantly on impact, he hadn’t been in pain. His mother had gently placed the couple and engagement rings in Hyukjae’s hand. They had driven him home, where he had collapsed on the floor of his bedroom, finally screaming out, pounding the floor and kicking out.  
  
That had been two months ago, and Hyukjae turned his body, refusing to look out the window any more. He shoved the meal into the sink, not even bothering to look at it any more. Hyukjae drifted through to the living room, slowly sinking onto the couch. The leather was cold, fluff poking through where it was cracked, and he stared at the ceiling. He numbly grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around him, snorting. Comforter. It didn’t offer any comfort. What a stupid name. For a second, it felt like large, strong hands were tucking the comforter around him, and he sighed, rolling over. Hyukjae closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to ignore the faint image of Donghae frowning at him, leaning over and shook his head, letting himself be lost to grief and nightmares for a few hours.


End file.
